


Consequences of Mistranslated Rituals

by IvoryRaven



Series: Consequences of Mistranslated Rituals [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Good Albus Dumbledore, Magical Pregnancy, Mpreg, Pregnancy, Pregnant Tom Riddle, Professor Albus Dumbledore, Sane Tom Riddle, Student Tom Riddle, Teenage Tom Riddle, Tom Riddle is Not Voldemort, Tom Riddle is a mess, Tom Riddle is annoyed, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:15:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23549038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IvoryRaven/pseuds/IvoryRaven
Summary: Tom Riddle isn't fluent in Sanskrit.What he thought was a ritual to make him immortal actually got him pregnant.
Series: Consequences of Mistranslated Rituals [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1722829
Comments: 39
Kudos: 135





	1. Consequences

**Author's Note:**

> This just appeared in my head and I had to write it. It's a completely self indulgent mess.

_This shouldn’t be possible,_ thought Tom, staring down at the glowing green light that informed him that yes, it absolutely was.

Speaking to snakes, he could handle.

Magic being real and utterly fascinating, he could handle.

But this?

He was male, for Merlin’s sake!

But thinking back on it, two weeks ago he had tried that ancient life ritual. The Sanskrit one. And maybe his Sanskrit wasn’t exactly fluent.

At all.

He was huddled in the Prefect’s bathroom with the _Healer’s Seventh Edition Symptom Finder_ open on his lap and his wand in hand. Letting the phoenix-feather infused stick of wood clatter to the ground, he thunked his forehead against the toilet seat.

Thank Merlin he was a Prefect. If anyone found him like this… his reputation was dead.

Not that it wasn’t already doomed. According to the massive book, it’d be fairly obvious around twelve to sixteen weeks in - subtract four, because it had been two weeks since the ritual and according to the book, he should be counting from his last menstrual period, which, being male, he hadn’t had, but that was approximately two weeks…

They’d know in eight to twelve weeks! More like eight, apparently, because Tom was quite slim, and was a first time mother…

Mother.

It was odd, to apply that word to himself. He knew, of course, that he had had a mother, but he had never met the woman and didn’t care to, if she couldn’t be bothered to live and raise him.

He would do a better job than she had. He would be there for his child.

It occurred to him that he hadn’t made the decision to keep it - but then he read to the next paragraph and discovered that he could not, in fact, terminate the pregnancy without killing himself.

He was feeling rather attached to the poppy seed-sized blastocyst he now knew he had.

Merlin, he was getting sentimental now!

He rested his hand against the flat surface of his abdomen, wondering what, exactly, that ritual had done to his body, and how this had happened.

Was it a miracle or a nightmare?

The nausea, the tiredness, the aversion to Malfoy’s obnoxiously-scented hair gel, it all made sense now.

He was going to have a baby.

A baby!

He, Tom Marvolo Riddle, Heir of Slytherin, was pregnant with a child.

The thought had him shaking with laughter, and soon, retching into the toilet bowl.

At breakfast the next morning he scooped what food didn’t make him ill onto his plate, no longer feeling bad about his desire for sugar now that he knew his body was supporting another organism.

His Knights were giving him weird looks.

“What?” he snapped.

“You, uh… normally hate french toast,” replied Thaddeus Nott, who had replaced Abraxas in sitting next to Tom after the hair gel stench problem had made eating impossible.

“Oh.” Tom supposed he normally did. Usually he complained to no end about the disgusting, steaming, egg-coated bread, but today he’d heaped it onto his plate and submerged it all in copious amounts of maple syrup.

And by Merlin, it smelled heavenly.

Tom did not grace his Knights with a proper response, instead devouring two platefuls of the syrupy delight. Although he knew it was months too early, he could almost feel the blastocyst-turned embryo jump for joy. He wasn’t sure where it was supposed to be implanting into, but whatever he craved, the baby would have!

Potions proved to be a difficulty.

“Please put the newt livers in,” Tom said stiffly. Usually he was very hands-on with Potions, but everything stank and it was making his head swim almost as much as his stomach.

“This many?” Now Lestrange, the idiot, was waving the awful livers in front of Tom’s nose! Tom gagged, throwing up a little into his mouth and forcing himself to swallow it back down. He couldn’t let on what the problem was. Silently, he nodded, and shot a discrete freshening charm at his mouth.

Even then, it wasn’t enough, for the potion brought the vomit back up, and Tom was forced to run out of the classroom, despite Professor Slughorn’s surprised cries, and all the way to the nearest loo.

Unfortunately it wasn’t that simple.

Professor Dumbledore was walking past, and when Tom hurtled past him with a hand clamped over his mouth, he changed course and followed.

Dumbledore came into the loo to find Tom hunched over the toilet, emptying the contents of his stomach into the bowl. 

“Tom, my boy!” said Dumbledore, sounding concerned.

Tom didn’t have the energy to try and make the Transfiguration Professor go away. He rested his head against the toilet, feeling sweat creep down his back.

Dumbledore was peering into Tom’s pasty-white face. “You don’t look well.”

“I’m not sick,” mumbled Tom, wrapping his arm around his stomach. There was nothing visibly there, but he wouldn’t let anyone harm the embryo there.

“May I remind you that I have just seen you throwing up,” said Dumbledore.

Tom stumbled to his feet. “I can show you.”

He led Dumbledore to the library, into the Restricted Section - the librarian frowned at seeing Tom there during class time, but was appeased by Dumbledore’s presence - and to the book of rituals he had used. He opened it to the page on the Sanskrit life ritual. “This. Do you read Sanskrit, Professor?”

“Very well, my boy… oh! Oh, Tom, you… this ritual?”

Tom nodded, leaning back on the shelf, feeling incredily exposed and fragile. Was this it? Was this the end? Dumbledore would destroy him, now he knew of Tom’s quest for immortality, and kill the baby, too…

Dumbledore closed the book.

“You’ve been going through this alone, my boy?”

Tom nodded, mortified at the tears he felt welling in his eyes.

Dumbledore stepped toward Tom, who dropped to the ground, trying to scuttle away, shielding his abdomen, tears now flowing freely down his face.

“I will not harm you,” assured Dumbledore, coming closer. Tom curled up in a ball, knowing the efforts of his body to guard his child were futile in the face of magic. But he could not run, fear kept him rooted to the spot.

Dumbledore put his arms around Tom, and squeezed. Tom pressed his face into Dumbledore’s fine suit, sobbing openly. “Don’t kill me!” he begged. “Don’t kill my baby!”

“I will not harm you,” repeated Dumbledore, but Tom was too deep in the throes of panic to hear. 

He cried himself to sleep in Dumbledore’s arms, and did not wake even when the older wizard brought him to a comfortable bed.

Dumbledore, for his part, was enormously relieved. With a baby on the way, Tom would love another being, and find other aspirations than ruling the world.


	2. Vertebrate

“What do you mean, it’s developing a tail!” shouted Tom, his hand flying to his stomach in alarm.

He was currently in Professor Dumbledore’s office. The man had taken to making him come every week, and watching him very sternly in class. If Tom so much as yawned, or gagged, or shifted in his seat or asked to be excused to use the loo (which happened more often than he liked to admit) he would be summoned that day as well. At the moment, he was curled up on the Transfiguration Professor’s sofa, halfheartedly looking through a book on Advanced Transfiguration the man had given him (and that was surreal: Albus Dumbledore, a man who had never treated him with anything but distrust, was now giving him things and feeding him tea and biscuits and asking if he was feeling okay) and doing his best to pretend he wasn’t at all interested in the embryo developing within him, or the charm the Professor had done so an image of it was projected in the air…

“It’s developing the nub of a tail,” Professor Dumbledore repeated, pointing to something in the air, something Tom didn’t dare look at. He didn’t want to see if it was horribly deformed, if it was - surely it wasn’t a snake! It couldn’t be! Not that he would love it any less -

Would he love it? He hadn’t given it much thought, at least, sane, rational thought, the kind of thought that could be counted, the kind of thought that couldn’t be thought of while feeling sick and tired and fat. He hadn’t thought sane, rational thoughts for at least a month now.

“And why,” he asked, really hoping his voice was level and at a normal pitch, although he could hear that it had gone high with worry, “is it developing a tail?”

“Tom, my boy, that is completely normal. You are six weeks pregnant, if what you told me was true-”

“It was!” Tom sputtered, as though he could barely believe the older wizard could suspect him of lying, although in the past, he had lied to Dumbledore, frequently and with no regret.

“Well then, you are six weeks pregnant, and your baby is four or five millimetres long.” Dumbledore tossed him something. Two months ago Tom’s reflexes were good enough that he would barely have to think about catching it, but now, whatever it was clattered to the floor, leaving him kneeling down to fetch it. It was a glass case, with a tiny - object - inside.

“That’s the biggest it could be,” Dumbledore told him.

“Crumb-sized,” marveled Tom, turning the case over in his hands. To think his child would now be visible to the naked eye!

Dumbledore continued with his lecture. “It is also developing little nubs for arms, legs, and yes, a tail. It will have a tail to begin with; that is what makes humans vertebrates. Your tailbone is the only remnant left of that tail. When your child is born, it will be as tail-less as you are, Mr. Riddle.”

Tom hated it, but he found himself feeling behind him to check there was no tail there.

“Your baby is also developing the start of its circulatory system, including a heart, which will soon start beating. Its neural tube is growing; the neural tube will eventually become the brain, spinal cord, and major nerves. The umbilical cord will also start developing soon, if it hasn’t already. That’s how your body will supply the baby with the nutrients it needs to grow.”

Tom stared down at himself, finding it hard to believe that all that was happening inside him. Inside an organ he shouldn’t have had.

“It’s true?” he found himself asking. “What you’ve said?”

Professor Dumbledore nodded. “It is! And I’ve taken the liberty of ordering a few parenting books, and one on baby names. You have quite a while to think about that, of course, but time flies, and it’s best to be prepared.”

“Time does not fly,” Tom drawled, but Professor Dumbledore ignored him.

“Rhubarb and apple crumble, Tom?” he called, making his way into the connected kitchen.

Tom’s breath hitched. Merlin, he would (almost) die for a delicious crumble, fruity and sweet, the taste of comfort, the crunch of the topping…

“Yes please!”

“With custard?”

There was custard? Custard? Tom found himself opposing the idea of accepting things of Dumbledore’s so eagerly, but custard… custard and crumble…

“Yes please!” he said again, stomach rumbling.

Dumbledore came back a few minutes later, with a steaming bowl of crumble, full to the brim with custard, which he set in Tom’s hands. “You’re far too thin for someone expecting!” he said by way of an explanation.

“Why do you think?” Tom said bitterly, inhaling the scent of the delicious dessert, trying to savor it. But he could not last any longer, and spooned some of the hot custard into his mouth.

The edges of Dumbledore’s eyes crinkled sadly, reminding Tom of an elephant. Not that he’d been able to see one, of course, the day the children went to see the London Zoo he’d had his arm broken by Dennis and hadn’t been able to go. And it was Dumbledore who had forced him to go back there, year after year! He’d begged to be allowed to stay, to go anywhere but there.

And now, he was going to take another person into that hellhole, the place he’d promised himself he would never go. They would never let him take this baby out with him when he left.

This baby. It was his baby and he’d keep it on the streets until he turned seventeen, if only to save it from a childhood consumed by the horrors of the orphanage!

Tom kept spooning down the custard and crumble, basking in the heart flowing through him and the heavenly taste of sweet apple with sour rhubarb.

“Everything is progressing as expected,” said Professor Dumbledore as Tom scraped the last of the custard out of his bowl. “Are you sure you won’t look at the projection? You should. You’re missing out on precious moments, ones you’ll never be able to get back.”

Tom sighed then, his heart having already given up. “Show me,” he said, his voice commanding. At least that was normal.

Professor Dumbledore obliged, conjuring the image for Tom to see. For the first time, Tom stood to inspect it. He didn’t acknowledge Dumbledore when he pointed out where the embryo was.

It looked like a slug. But by jove, it was the most marvelous little slug Tom had ever seen! “Hello,” he whispered. “I’m your daddy… slug…”


	3. Ignorance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom learns another lesson on why it is important to do your research before doing magic you don't know.

Slug was growing, according to Professor Dumbledore.

“Its bones are growing, and it’s getting fingernails and skin. It’s officially a fetus now.” Dumbledore said.

Tom blinked. “Right.” He shifted.

“How are your symptoms?” asked Dumbledore.

Tom made a face. “A lot worse. I can barely cope in Potions most of the time, even when I touch nothing.”

Dumbledore nodded. “I see. That is normal, but I may have to speak to Horace about making exceptions for you.”

“No!” The word exploded from Tom’s mouth. “Don’t! Don’t tell him - don’t tell anyone! No one else needs to know!”

Dumbledore looked sternly at him. “Now Tom. You’ve got a baby to think about now.”

Tom wrapped his arms around his stomach. “I am! I just - I don’t want everyone to know about it! The boys in my dorm - they’ll notice, I’m already - Professor, I’m already getting a belly, it’s… showing!”

“Tom, my boy! Congratulations!”

Tom gave him a withering glare.

“It’s time to run your usual tests,” said Dumbledore. “The second trimester will be better.”

Tom gagged, throwing up on the floor. “Sorry, Professor.” As much as he hated throwing up, he wasn’t really sorry about doing so on the Professor’s floor.

Professor Dumbledore waved his wand, Vanishing the spilled contents of Tom’s stomach.

Tom curled up on the sofa, hiding his head. He’d weighed himself just the other day, and knew he was losing weight. He hadn't been able to keep much down over the past few weeks. He’d been stubbornly refusing to read the books Professor Dumbledore had given him on pregnancy and parenting, telling himself he didn’t really need to know it.

“Tom,” Professor Dumbledore said, laying a hand on Tom’s shoulder. Tom shuddered.

“Slug!” he gasped.

“Slug?” Professor Dumbledore echoed, sounding confused.

Tom blushed. “I’m calling it Slug. It looked like a slug, when I first saw it.”

Professor Dumbledore smiled. “Very cute, Tom.”

Tom scowled, not really feeling the frustration. In fact, all he was feeling was a rising sense of worry and overpowering nausea. Who was Dumbledore to comment on his name for his little Slug?

It wasn’t cute! Tom didn’t do ‘cute.’ It was realistic, that’s what it was. The - fetus, Professor Dumbledore said - looked like a slug - or at least it had looked like a slug when he started calling it that. 

Tom squirmed, remembering his original question. “It’s becoming obvious, sir,” he said. “I need help disguising it.” It pained him to say it! But he’d tried everything, even a glamour, but although that had worked it had hurt like there were knife blades inside him, and he’d taken it off and still been sore for two days after.

For a moment he thought Professor Dumbledore was going to come out and make him say it, make him say the word out loud, but the man didn’t. “Just get changed in private,” he said instead.

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can’t. They’ll notice something’s different and will start looking. If they haven’t already! They’re going to figure it out!”

Professor Dumbledore nodded. “They will. Your pregnancy will become much more obvious later on, and then you’ll have a baby to take care of. You think they won’t notice you with a child?”

Tom frowned. “They don’t need to know now!” he said, desperate.

“They will figure it out,” Dumbledore said gently, sitting beside him. “There is no way of safely concealing a pregnancy with magic.”

“There isn’t a way of modifying the glamour charm to make it not hurt so much?” Tom asked hopefully.

“Good Merlin, Tom! You tried the glamour charm? It’s a wonder you haven’t - a wonder you didn’t - however are you still alive!”

“What.” Tom’s voice was almost as icy as the emotions whipping through him.

“Glamour charms fight your magic, Tom! Your magic is already overactive to protect your baby, and glamours have been known to kill witches in minutes. Even the most powerful witches only last hours!”

“You mean to say,” Tom said, his voice trembling and high, “that I could have died?”

Professor Dumbledore nodded.

“I did something that could have killed me and you didn’t warn me? I’m not one of your stupid Gryffindors! Doing stupid things is not a habit of mine!” The tension burst out of his mouth in a rush of anger.

Professor Dumbledore was glaring at him. Tom glared back.

Professor Dumbledore looked away. Victory! But the man was now talking, again, and putting food in front of Tom, food he couldn’t resist…

Dumbledore’s obsession with feeding Tom was terrifying. What if he poisoned him?

But even Tom didn’t have the self control he needed.

“Look at this, Tom!”

Tom did. 

It was his Slug. Slug had an enormous, floppy looking head the size of its torso, and stumpy little legs and arms. To Tom’s relief, there was no tail.

“Its fingers and toes aren’t webbed anymore,” said Professor Dumbledore, “and it’s growing fingernails. Which you would know if you’d been reading those books.”

Tom looked away, sinking his teeth into his inner cheek to bite back an annoyed curse. The books Dumbledore had given him lay at the bottom of his trunk, untouched since he’d shoved them there when he got them. 

“I don’t want to read about things that happen to witches,” he said at last, affixing a scowl on his face. It wasn’t exactly a lie. Not exactly.

“These aren’t just things that happen to witches, Tom,” Professor Dumbledore said sternly. “These are things happening to you.”

Tom scowled harder.

“Perhaps next time you are nosing around in the Restricted Section you won’t be fumbling with rituals you think make you immortal,” said Dumbledore.

Merlin! What did Dumbledore know? Tom closed his eyes and tried not to hear the man’s voice echoing inside his head: immortal. Immortal. Immortal. Something he wasn’t. Something he’d failed at. Tom didn’t like failing at things, and now he’d failed at two in the span of three months!

“I’m going to leave now,” said Tom, and snatched up a handful of biscuits before hurrying away.


	4. Quickening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [DISCLAIMER: a character refers to ovaries, uteruses, and vulvas as 'lady parts.' This is entirely the character and the author in no way supports the idea that ovaries, uteruses, and vulvas are exclusive to women or that all women have ovaries, a uterus, and a vulva]  
> TRIGGER WARNING for transphobic reference.

Tom was in Ancient Runes, listening to Professor Babbling’s lecture, copying down the most important information on understanding culture and word-for-word translation, with Abraxas beside him. The Malfoy’s hair products had stopped being a problem, and, though Tom wouldn’t admit it out loud, he liked Abraxas’ company. He was clever and not as annoying as his other Knights. 

“Tom,” Abraxas whispered.

(Abraxas wasn’t famous for paying attention in class. He was bright enough, but his family was loaded and Abraxas said it wasn’t worth putting effort into things he’d never need to know. The only thing he paid attention to at this point was Care of Magical Creatures because he wanted to breed albino peafowl.)

Tom looked over at Abraxas. He’d already read ahead, and knew most of what Professor Babbling was saying anyway. What he didn’t, he would soon pick up and it would appear as if he’d known everything all along.

“Um. You might want to cut down a little in the pudding department. Or, uh, join the Quidditch team. Have you been drinking a lot of beer? Never mind. Just - well. You don’t want anything to taint your image, right?”

Tom grit his teeth. No, he did not. But he hadn’t been eating more than usual - or at least that he’d noticed, and exercising wouldn’t help with his recent weight gain.

No. The distinct roundness mostly hidden beneath his robes was his Slug. He supposed Abraxas must have seen the shape when he leaned back and the fabric draped around his protruding abdomen.

He couldn’t let Abraxas think that he was really getting fat - he didn’t want anyone to think that.

“We have to talk,” he said, then looked away. But he couldn’t concentrate, not when someone had noticed - should he start wearing his heavy winter cloak?

Abraxas pulled him into an empty classroom after class. “Explain,” the Malfoy demanded.

Tom chewed on his lip. Eventually, he started.

“I performed a ritual some time ago. I thought - I thought it would make me live forever.”

The voice coming out of his mouth didn’t sound like him. It was nervous, halting.

“It didn’t.”

Now for the hardest part.

“I’m pregnant.”

Abraxas stared. “Come again?”

“I’m pregnant.”

“Congratulations! Who’s the father?”

It was Tom’s turn to be confused. “I don’t think there is a father. It just… sort of happened.”

“That’s not how genetics work!” Abraxas protested.

“I know!” Tom said. “I can’t explain it. I don’t know what’s going on but I tested and - Professor Dumbledore confirmed it.”

Abraxas blinked. “Well then… ooh! Can I see?”

Without waiting for Tom’s answer, he leaned over Tom and started undoing his robes.

“Oi!” complained Tom.

“I want to see,” was Abraxas’ only answer, and he kept undressing Tom. Eventually, when he’d unbuttoned Tom’s shirt, he gave an excited cry and pressed his hand against the rounded half-circle. 

“Congratulations, Tom,” said Abraxas. “When are you due?”

Tom calculated. “Spring. May or early June, I think. Shortly before we leave.”

Abraxas nodded. “So… NEWTs.”

Tom sighed. “Yeah.”

“You’re going to be doing them?”

“Of course!”

“I can babysit!”

Tom frowned. “Slug is mine, thank you very much.”

“Slug.” Abraxas deadpanned.

Tom nodded. “It looked like a slug when I first saw it. You should know Professor Dumbledore had much the same reaction.”

“He told you your kid looks like a slug?” Abraxas cackled.

Tom sighed. “No, the same reaction as you!”

Abraxas rolled his eyes. “I bet he didn’t do this.”

And he knelt down, face in front of Tom’s abdomen, nose almost touching the curve of his belly. “Hi baby Riddle!” he cooed. “I’m your Uncle Brax!”

“You are no such thing,” scoffed Tom. “Uncle Brax indeed.”

Abraxas’ head popped up. “Tom! Will you call it like, Mini Voldemort? Minimort!” he squealed. “Baby Minimort!”

“I’m not naming a child _Minimort,_ Abraxas,” Tom drawled. “I may as well have named it _Orgasm_.”

Abraxas shrugged. “Just a thought. If you are calling yourself Lord Voldemort, it doesn’t really make much sense to have your kid named Bob Riddle or whatever.”

“Bob - Bob!” Tom sputtered. “I’m not naming my baby Bob! Slug will have a proper Wizarding name!”

“You could always name it after yourself,” Abraxas suggested.

“No.” He wasn’t calling his little Slug ‘Tom.’

Later that day, Abraxas forced Tom to look at some of the books on pregnancy. “Just one! I’ll read it to you.”

Tom did, only to appease Abraxas and stop him causing a scene and alerting every Slytherin in the vicinity that he, Tom Riddle, was pregnant.

“Sixteen weeks… that’s what you said, right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay! Your baby is… as big as an avocado!”

“I see.” Tom’s voice wavered. An avocado? His little Slug was just the right size to fit comfortably in his hand, then!

“Your baby’s eyes are becoming sensitive to light. It is also developing a sucking reflex, and its heart is pumping 25 quarts of blood a day! Your baby can straighten its head and neck - and oh! Your baby’s eyes are making side to side movements, but the eyelids are still fused shut. Its skin is clear… ewww there’s a picture… oh! And Tom, your baby can hear your voice and will recognize it when it’s born!”

“Hello, little Slug,” Tom whispered.

“You might have to be louder than that. I don’t know. I don’t remember anything from before I was born. Um, your uterus is growing… do you even have a uterus?”

“I must have a uterus, Abraxas, honestly. It’s not growing in my - I don’t know - colon!”

“Well. Whatever you have to grow a baby in is growing. It’s getting to the point where you might not be able to hide your pregnancy anymore, even if you wanted to… check, but if you’re not leaning back the way you were, these robes can conceal pretty much anything. I expect you’ll still look… rounder, but you can probably go on without too many questions! Um, apparently you’re going to need new clothes.”

“I’ll make do,” said Tom.

“Just buy bigger sizes, it’s not a big deal. You can even do it by owl post so nobody knows what you’re getting.”

A blush crept onto Tom’s neck. “That isn’t really the problem. I can’t afford new clothes.”

Abraxas looked shocked. “You can’t? Oh. Well then… I’ll buy stuff for you!’

“Don’t, Abraxas, I can’t repay you.”

Abraxas waved him off. “Don’t worry about it!”

“You’re too kind for a Malfoy,” Tom muttered.

Abraxas ignored him and continued with the book. “You should have gained a few pounds. Yeah well, I’m not surprised! No offense, but you’re not exactly slim anymore. Um, your breasts should be growing…?”

Tom’s chest had been sore, but he wasn’t going to tell Abraxas that!

“And… you might be… constipated, and have… vaginal discharge. Wait! Tom! You don’t have a - you don’t have lady parts. How are you supposed to - you know?!”

Tom blinked. He hadn’t thought about that. “I’ll ask Professor Dumbledore,” he said, although he had no intention of doing any such thing. He’d look it up if he could. Anything to avoid confiding in the Transfiguration professor.

“You won’t,” snorted Abraxas. “I’ll ask Professor Dumbledore for you.”

Almost two weeks later, Abraxas was sitting next to Tom in Transfiguration. Abraxas had been clingy when his smell became tolerable to Tom again, and he was even more so now, taking every opportunity to call himself ‘Uncle Brax.’

Tom was tense. His back hurt, a constant, exhausting, ache of overuse. And his Slug had started moving. Unfortunately, during late afternoon, when Transfiguration was, Slug was often awake.

Slug was awake today, and squirming. It was like there was a lot of gas bubbled in his abdomen, but there wasn’t. Not day after day, in the morning and at night and in the afternoons. It was all the baby. And it got worse whenever someone talked near him.

Professor Dumbledore waved his wand, producing a sphere of white light that lit up the room, and Slug’s acrobatics were legendary. Tom pressed his hand against his belly, willing Slug to stop, but it didn’t, and Abraxas noticed and tried to feel.

“Not in public, Abraxas, Merlin!” hissed Tom.

“Mr. Riddle, stay behind,” said Professor Dumbledore at the end of class. 

“I’ll stay with him,” said Abraxas immediately. When all the other students had left, and Tom was shooting an annoyed glare at him, he smiled and said “I know about the baby!”

“Very well then, you may stay. I’m glad you told someone, Tom. Now, am I to assume your baby has been moving?”

Tom nodded, shifting in his seat.

“I’m its Uncle Brax!” said Abraxas proudly.

“How sweet!” exclaimed Professor Dumbledore, just as Tom was opening his mouth to say “not likely!”

“You really must think about alerting the rest of the staff,” said Dumbledore rather desperately. 

“I am not a small child, Professor, I am legally allowed to press charges if you tell people without my express permission. Which you do not have,” said Tom, his tone growing icy.

He would not have Dumbledore blabbing to the whole wide world!


	5. Concern

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tom doesn't trust people

Tom was having a problem.

No matter how hard he pulled, his shirt wouldn’t button up.

“Abraxas!” he hissed. The other boys in their dorm had already left before Tom had dared get out of bed, but Abraxas Malfoy had taken to escorting Tom around. (“I’m not going to break,” Tom had pointed out, but Abraxas insisted.)

Tom couldn’t sleep in his school robes, but without them he looked like he had a Quaffle shoved down his shirt. 

“Yeah?” Abraxas turned around from styling his hair in the mirror.

“I need to borrow your shirt.”

“You’ll stretch it and ruin it!” Abraxas whined, but a withering glare from Tom had him fetching a white uniform shirt and handing it over.

Tom managed to get Abraxas’ larger shirt around his distended belly, but just barely. His own gray jumper barely stretched around the expansive curve. He slipped into his robes, which, thankfully, still disguised the evidence of his condition.

Slug kicked him in the ribs. Tom hissed in annoyance. It hurt!

Abraxas immediately jumped on him. “Is the baby kicking? Can I feel it? Hi little baby! Kick Uncle Brax!”

He pressed his hand against the fabric-covered curve of Tom’s belly, and pushed in. Tom glared at him.

Slug jabbed Abraxas. Tom exhaled sharply. That hurt even more!

“Hi, baby!” Abraxas squealed.

Tom scowled. “It’s torturing me and you’re encouraging it!”

Abraxas smirked. “Taking after its daddy, then.”

Later that day Tom had arranged a meeting with his Knights. He didn’t really want to go to it, his back ached relentlessly. But he couldn’t go back on his word now, it would make them suspicious.

He was talking to them about graduation plans when it happened. A curious, squeezing sensation in his abdomen. It didn’t hurt, but it felt odd. His muscles were tensing without conscious effort to move.

He dismissed it as a fluke and went back to planning how his Knights would use their positions to benefit his cause. Abraxas would be following his influential father into politics, and would push Tom’s ideas into the Wizengamot. Slowly at first, so that nobody noticed until their culture was already saturated with Tom’s propoganda. Then the takeover would be swift and easy.

The squeezing happened again. Tom’s breath was slightly shaky. This was getting strange. Was Slug-?

It happened a third time, and he was ready to blow something up in his worry. Instead of mass destruction, he said “meeting dismissed,” cutting Lestrange off in the middle of a sentence. Lestrange eyed him strangely, but left with the rest of the Knights.

“Abraxas! Stay!” Tom insisted at the last moment. Abraxas turned to him, confused.

“Something horrible is happening,” said Tom, as calmly as he possibly could. He was not ready for this! “I think I’m going into preterm labor.”

Abraxas stared at him. “...are you sure?”

Tom shrugged, helpless and hating every moment of it. “I don’t know. Fetch-” he didn’t want to say it, but if he didn’t… he just couldn’t let that happen. “Fetch Professor Dumbledore.”

“Got it!” Abraxas raced off. He was back a few minutes later, with an out-of-breath Dumbledore.

“Mr. Malfoy tells me you are in labor,” said Professor Dumbledore.

Tom bit his lip. “I’m not sure, but I thought just in case, I should talk to you.”

He despised coming to Professor Dumbledore for help, but he was the only one who knew and Tom would not tell any of the staff. Wouldn’t let anyone tell any of the staff.”

“Are you having contractions?” asked Professor Dumbledore. Tom nodded.

“I think so, yes.”

“Are they painful?”

“Not really? They pinch a bit, but they don’t really hurt.” 

“And are they coming at regular intervals?”

Tom shook his head. They certainly weren’t - he’d had one, and then two quite close together.

And then a fourth one came, and clenched around his abdomen. And then it was gone.

“Then you’re not in labor, my boy. You are having practice contractions.”

Tom narrowed his eyes at Dumbledore. “Practice contractions? What’s that supposed to mean? And before you tell me - how do you know all this anyway?”

Abraxas smirked, catching on to what Tom was implying.

“Any experience in this department, Professor?” asked Tom.

“Goodness, no!” exclaimed Professor Dumbledore, though Tom felt a wave of satisfaction at the slightly annoyed and embarrassed look on the man’s face. “I simply took the liberty of educating myself in these matters after you came to me the first time.”

“I did not come to you,” objected Tom, “you chased me into a toilet! Quite a difference, don’t you think?”

Dumbledore shook his head as if he couldn’t believe he had to spell this out, although to Tom, there was quite a significant disparity between the two situations. “You looked like you were going to be ill, Tom. As your Professor, I was concerned.”

“Still,” Tom said loftily, “I would have been fine on my own.”

He wouldn’t have, and he knew Dumbledore knew that too. Tom had been feeling awful that day, just ready to fall apart. It was lucky that when he had, it had been to tears and fear, not the Dark curses that liked to leap to the tip of his tongue.

The Dark Arts, it turned out, could be addictive. Tom wasn’t quite addicted, merely _partial_ to the thrill they led to. He, Tom Riddle, was not beholden to anyone or anything.

“I remembered that I had a question,” said Abraxas. “How’s Tom going to give birth?”

Tom fixed Abraxas with a glare.

“I see. Well, he is going to have to know. Tom, you will give birth via your anus.”

Tom stared. The idea was… mildly terrifying.

“Of course you will have to work up to it, and you will have to start anal stretching well before the birth, and there are spells we’ll use to aid you.” said Professor Dumbledore.

“You must have an enormous anus,” Abraxas commented.

Tom blushed.

“Not any bigger than yours, Mr. Malfoy,” said Professor Dumbledore, and left the room. The two Slytherins stared at each other in shock.

“How long do you have left?” Abraxas wondered aloud.

“Seventeen weeks,” replied Tom.

“Let me see it!” Abraxas asked, and Tom, now used to the eager boy’s demands, acquiesced. 

His torso was quite rotund, now. The curved belly jutted out just under his rubs, with his belly button in the middle, and sloped back down to the middle of his pelvis. His back hurt from having to lug the extra weight around all day, and his feet were annoyingly swollen. His shoes had become really quite uncomfortable, but he could hardly go barefoot. 

Abraxas laid his hands on Tom’s distended belly. “Hi little baby,” he cooed, rubbing the firm surface.

Tom closed his eyes. As much as he didn’t like Abraxas fawning over his unborn little Slug, his belly and hips had been painful recently. Abraxas’ touch soothed the ache.

Could he, perhaps, make Abraxas give him massages without having any ideas, or Tom being too humiliated because he had to ask for help?

No, he decided, he could not. He was alone with his Slug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tom: I have to do this alone!  
> Everyone else: ...bruh no? You don't!


	6. Coercion

“This is getting ridiculous,” said Abraxas one day. 

“You can’t keep hiding it, my boy,” said Professor Dumbledore.

Tom lay on his back on the sofa in Professor Dumbledore’s office. Everything hurt. His back ached constantly, his feet were annoyingly puffy and rubbed red and raw from wearing shoes all day, his hips twinged when he moved. His little Slug never seemed to sleep, constantly squirming and poking him. It had developed a particular habit of curling its toes into his ribcage and pushing out as hard as it possibly could.

Tom had watched it happen and it made his stomach visibly move.

It was terrifying. If Slug pushed any harder he worried he’d explode and bleed out.

“I don’t know how you expect me to -” Tom blushed. “It to come out. It won’t fit! Look how enormous it is!”

He gestured to the mound that protruded from his front.

“You’ll manage,” Dumbledore assured him. “It’s been done before.”

“Huh.” Tom couldn’t imagine anyone willingly putting themselves through the torment he was suffering. Really, it was a wonder humans hadn’t died out long ago. “And, ah, what exactly is my Slug? A clone of myself?”

“That depends. When you performed the ritual, did you use one source of your DNA, or two?”

“Two,” said Tom.

“It’s very unlikely that you’ve cloned yourself, then. According to a modern researcher of those methods, using one source of DNA has a slight chance of resulting in a baby with the exact same active genes you have. There is a miniscule chance if you use two sources but it’s incredibly unlikely and you can safely assume that you haven’t.”

“How does that work, sir?” asked Abraxas.

“One source of DNA would have been used to create an ovum. The other would have been used to create sperm. The two would then have joined together - a process accelerated by the ritual magic - and implanted. The ritual you used, Tom, my boy, is intended for same-sex couples who wish to have children. It can be used by both males and females, hence why both the sperm and ovum are created by the ritual and not supplied by the user. And the ritual can use one source of DNA for both - but of course, the resulting child only has one parent.”

“So there isn’t some witch out there whose child this is?” Tom checked.

“No, there is not. You are the only parent.”

“And it’s not going to be an identical copy of me?”

“No, it is not,” Professor Dumbledore assured him.

Tom rolled onto his side to try and ease the pressure on his back. That left his arm in an awkward position, draped over his bump.

He’d started not wearing proper shirts at all. Nothing would fit, and he couldn’t afford new clothes. And button-up white collared shirts probably didn’t exist anyway with the proportions he needed.

To avoid looking like a uniformless hooligan, Tom had cut the top off a shirt. He’d left the arms attached to the top part, but there were only a few centimetres of fabric between the bottom part of the arms and where the shirt cut off. He could wear that and still look like he was wearing the proper shirt, but didn’t have to worry about forcing his (or Abraxas’) shirt over his bulging belly.

A now-familiar ‘practice contraction’ came, and Tom scowled. He hated them. His magic crackled to his fingertips, ready to lash out at whatever was annoying him.

But it was his own body annoying him.

Slug seemed to be doing somersaults, flipping and turning in a most unpleasant way. Stop, Tom thought. Please. Go to sleep, for once!

But the child did not hear his thoughts. Not that he had been expecting it to - he knew it wasn’t telepathic! He was not mad.

“Admit it,” said Abraxas, “you can’t keep this up.”

Tom would have tortured his insolent Knight but Professor Dumbledore was watching, eyeing his twitching wand hand with a suspicious look.

Tom huffed. “It would ruin me if I did.”

“If your friends abandon you - Abraxas here hasn’t - you’ll make new friends,” Professor Dumbledore said.

Tom sneered, allowing the expression to manifest unchecked. “I am not a first-year Hufflepuff, sir. I will not sit and make daisy chains with a gaggle of ridiculous children.”

Professor Dumbledore managed to look down on Tom, although Tom was almost as tall as he was. “Making daisy chains is a wonderful childhood experience! Will you really deprive your baby of that?”

“I didn’t need it,” snarled Tom, and rolled over to look away from Professor Dumbledore. He wrapped his arms around his bump, where Slug greeted him with an excited kick. He was not depriving his Slug of anything! Slug would have the world.

Abraxas crossed to look down at Tom. Tom scowled.

“Please,” said Abraxas, his blue eyes wide and pleading. “At least talk about it with me later.”

Tom huffed. Abraxas could be very determined, and when he was, he was unavoidable - and insufferable.

Abraxas smirked triumphantly. “I think we’ll be going now, Professor,” he said. Tom rolled over and hauled himself to his feet, annoyed at the effort it took and how unbalanced he felt and the way the world went white and he pressed his eyes shut, swaying - Abraxas’ hand clasped onto his shoulder, steadying him. He, Lord Voldemort, should not need his Knight’s assistance to stand up, of all simple things!

Slug was pressing on his bladder, now. Tom bit down on the inside of his mouth to keep from snarling all manner of rude things he shouldn’t be saying in front of Professor Dumbledore.

Merlin, he needed the loo!

“Let’s go,” he hissed, almost slipping into Parseltongue, and half-ran out of Dumbledore’s quarters. He couldn’t really run anymore, not with what felt like a sack of wet sand in front of him, but he was extremely motivated not to wet himself.

He made it into a loo just in time, Abraxas following him with a confused look on his pale face. Tom relieved himself with a sigh, and emerged to face his Knight.

“Yes?” he demanded.

“Well - I was thinking - you need to tell the others.”

“We’ve discussed this before. No.”

“Not everyone! Just the other Knights. So we can all help you disguise your pregnancy for a bit longer. I still don’t think it’s a good idea, but it’s something, right? A compromise?”

“Lord Voldemort doesn’t make compromises.” Tom scowled. “Fine. But only the other Knights. Nobody else.”

“Of course!” Abraxas’ face lightened. “I’ll gather them.”

“In the Forbidden Forest,” Tom said. Dark magic went easily undetected in the Forest. It would be easy to Crucio anyone who dared question him.


	7. Loyalty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom makes an announcement. Abraxas is pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief non-graphic torture in this one.

Abraxas was smirking again, the idiot. Tom’s hand twitched toward his wand.

Soon enough, Tom heard the sound of muttering, and rearranged his robes. Even when he leaned forward and tugged on the fabric to pull it out, his condition was becoming more and more obvious.

“Don’t bother,” Abraxas said, noticing what he was doing.

“I won’t be humiliated!” Tom snapped.

“You won’t be humiliated,” said Abraxas soothingly, as if he were talking to a crying Hufflepuff. Tom would be lying if he claimed it didn’t soothe his jangled nerves, but he was a liar if he was anything,

“Not going to work,” he said, rolling his eyes and gritting his teeth.

Abraxas started smirking. Again.

“My Lord?” called Lestrange, pushing through an Uprooting Bush. He was leading the rest of the Knights, their wand tips illuminated to light their way.

Tom leaned against a tree. “I have brought you here to make a private announcement. You are not to share this with anyone who is not already here. Am I understood?”

“Yes, my Lord,” they droned. The Cruciatus Curse had taught them well. Hopefully they would treat the new knowledge he was about to impart with the same serious secrecy as they did his Dark magic habit.

“Go on,” prompted Abraxas, and Tom whirled around, wand in hand.

“Crucio!”

Abraxas dropped to his knees, but held the pain very well. Tom canceled the curse after five seconds, leaving Abraxas out of breath and shaking, but the effects would soon be gone. 

Several of his other Knights swallowed and shuffled their feet. They should be scared! They should prefer to die than to spill Tom’s secrets or disrespect him so!

“This announcement,” he said, his voice icy and overly controlled - he couldn’t have them picking up on the horrible fluttering of his heart or the prickling of his spine in what he refused to believe was fear. “In approximately 105 days-”

It seemed an awfully long time to wait. Merlin, he wished it would end sooner!

“-I will have a child.”

Silence.

Then, “with who?” from Mulciber.

Tom fixed Mulciber with a cold stare. The other boy was not the quickest wand in the holster. “With nobody,” he hissed, almost slipping into Parseltongue.

“That’s impossible!” scoffed Mulciber, adding a subdued “my Lord after a few seconds of disbelieving and appalled silence, but it did nothing to lessen the impact of this slight. Mulciber had gone too far.

“How ignorant of you.” Tom’s voice was cold as a knife to the throat. Never mind that he himself had thought that once - Mulciber was his minion, and to question Lord Voldemort so!

“It is true,” said Tom, and flicked his wand, lifting a fist-sized stone from the forest floor and sending it slamming into Mulciber’s head. “Let that knock some sense into you, Mulciber. And the rest of you! There is far worse waiting for the next Knight who thinks himself better than I, Slytherin’s own Heir.”

Silence.

“Magic itself has blessed me with a child, by myself and myself only, to be born in the middle of June. I require and demand your fullest efforts in keeping the existence of the child a secret until its birth, so that it may be protected.”

This was a complete lie. He knew full well that his Slug was only with him because of an accident in translation, but none of them needed to know that and he had never promised honesty. 

“It is a great honor that you ask this of us.” It was Avery who spoke. “I will do my best.”

“As will I,” said Abraxas, who never like anyone to steal his thunder.

“And me,” said Lestrange. The others agreed not long after, with nods of their heads and echoes of Avery’s and Lestrange’s words.

“Excellent. I am pleased with your loyalty. This gathering is dismissed. Remember to return in the usual manner as not to arouse suspicion.”

“Yes, my Lord,” came the expected chorus, and the herd of Knights left Tom and Abraxas alone again.

“That wasn’t so bad,” said Abraxas.

Tom scowled and leaned back on the rough bark of the tree to his back. “That idiot Mulciber.”

“I know. Still. They’re still your loyal Knights. They’d lick your feet clean if you asked.”

Tom smiled. He even felt pleased - or happy? Was he really happy to hear that?

“And would you?” he inquired, entirely seriously.

Abraxas took a moment to answer, but when he did his voice was confident and unwavering. “I would.”


	8. Rumours

Tom had been used to not having much in the orphanage, where much of the food was watered-down soup and porridge made with Merlin knew what, but this… this was getting out of hand.

He was always hungry, and could never eat more than half what he normally would. And within thirty minutes he’d be hungry again! It was awful. And Slug was getting to be huge, which he supposed was a good thing, but it meant that his bump was also huge. He had taken to surrounding himself with his Knights, to hide him, but students from other Houses had started whispering.

“Is he smuggling dark artefacts under his robes?”

“I bet he’s got something illegal.”

“Maybe it’s a potion.”

“Maybe it’s Amortentia.”

“I wouldn’t mind if he used it on _me.”_

The Professors, remarkably enough, were turning a blind eye. Tom supposed they must be used to students getting up to all sorts of things - after all, famed Magizoologist Newt Scamander claimed he’d had at least twenty magical beasts that were against school rules to keep while at Hogwarts, and Tom himself had released the Basilisk and Petrified several students, killing one - and even when Myrtle had died last year, the school hadn’t closed!

Well, that or Dumbledore was manipulating them somehow. Tom wouldn’t put it past him.

“Is the baby moving?” Abraxas’ cheery voice snapped Tom out of his head.

“No, it is not. I can think without everything being about _that,_ thank you very much - my life is not defined by somebody else’s!”

“All right, all right.” Abraxas held up his hands. “Are we waiting for the others or are we just going?”

“We’re waiting,” Tom said. His bump made it impossible for him to hide it alone, now that he was in his thirty-second week of pregnancy.

Pregnancy.

Yuck.

By Salazar, it was miserable! Wearing shoes was torture, as was writing notes in class. It was the worst time he could imagine for writing notes to be painful: just nine short weeks until NEWTs.

And only eight weeks until Slug arrived, so he’d be sitting them with a child. That would be difficult to explain, but he was not going to leave just anyone with his little Slug.

Evan Rosier arrived soon, followed by Avery, Mulciber, and Lestrange. Tom gestured to them and they formed a group around him, Abraxas and Evan flanking him, Mulciber behind him and Lestrange in front of him.

Abraxas was eyeing Tom. “This is not going to work,” he warned, then slung his arm around Tom’s shoulders in a jovial fashion, smiling broadly as if this was a normal thing to do. In doing so, he bumped his hip against Tom’s expansive belly, and Tom went to glare at him only to notice that Abraxas was trying to conceal his condition from a younger girl hurrying by. Eileen Prince, he thought her name was. Professor Slughorn was fond of her.

Tom sighed. “It has to work,” he said. “It has to.”

“I will support you no matter what,” Evan declared. “You and the baby both.”

“Thank you,” said Tom.

“Just let us know what you need,” Lestrange said. He had been insufferable when they were younger, but had warmed up to Tom when he realized that Tom was not spreading disease and prejudice.

Mulciber said nothing. He was not the most intelligent of Tom’s Knights, nor the most loyal, but he was drawn to power as a fly to light. Mulciber would not betray someone like Tom, someone with an extensive network of resources via his more devoted Knights.

They soon arrived at the room Slughorn was using for his soirees. “Tom!” Slughorn greeted enthusiastically. “I did so enjoy your latest essay, I hope you don’t mind, I shared it with an old friend, an editor of Potions Weekly… ah, he’s occupied at the moment but if you talk to him, who knows? Perhaps you’ll be featured! Mr. Malfoy! I’m glad you were able to make it today! And Mr. Rosier, how is your cousin Druella? Doing well, I hope, I remember her fondly… quite the independant spirit! Mr. Mulciber, have you heard from your grandfather lately? I do hope to hear more about his trip to Rome! Mr. Lestrange, too! Your aunt must meet Ms. Prince over here, she’s quite the talent! Very gifted in Potions. Shy, but clever. You will write her, won’t you? Excellent! I am glad to hear it.”

Professor Slughorn turned to talk to his next guest, so Tom’s group moved on. “I’m going to sit down,” Tom muttered, just loud enough for his Knights to hear. They all moved, as one, to a table at the side of the room, loaded with treats of all kinds. Tom collapsed as elegantly as he could manage into the nearest chair. His back was killing him and his feet would be screaming if they could. He set his hands on the table - he had no lap to speak of. 

Evan Rosier sat next to him, and filled a plate with _Tarte Normande._ “If you want to leave-”

“Not yet,” Tom said, “it would look odd to leave so soon.”

Lestrange floated over to speak with the girl they had seen earlier, Eileen Prince. Abraxas Malfoy was swept up in conversation by a man Tom recognized by his robes to be a high ranking Auror.

Mulciber flopped into the chair next to Evan. “I’m only here because I’ve got connections,” he groused.

Tom tensed. Mulciber might think his ‘connections,’ as he put it, were annoying, but Tom wished he had such strong relationships with powerful people. Power was not the only thing that could corrupt, and powerful people were often only in the positions they held because their puppeteers wanted them there, and when you knew who the puppeteers were, it was easy enough to usurp their control.

Tom stayed for an hour, barely moving from the table and letting anyone Professor Slughorn directed to his _star student_ come to him.

After that hour, though, he was ready to go. His back hadn’t improved, and by Salazar, he needed the loo. He hauled himself out of his chair, attempting not to look like he had a heavy boulder strapped to him, and gathered his Knights to him, willing the white spots out of his vision all the while.

“I’m afraid we’ve got to go,” he told Slughorn with a regretful smile.

“Oh, all right, Tom. I’ll see you all in lessons, then?”

Tom widened his smile, making it look happier. “Oh, yes, of course, sir! I wouldn’t dream of skipping classes - especially yours! You are a wonderful teacher, sir.”

Abraxas nodded. “Oh, definitely!”

Professor Slughorn was preening. “Why, thank you, boys!” he said.

Tom and his Knights took a rarely used passageway back to the Slytherin common room (with a much needed detour to the nearest loo) and went as swiftly as Tom could to their dorm room. The stairs were hard. Tom didn’t remember them taking this long to climb before, or rendering him out of breath and panting.

And they weren’t even halfway there! Hogwarts had a truly mind boggling number of staircases.

Abraxas offered his arm. “Here,” he said, “let me?”

Tom was too exhausted and in pain to care, with nobody but his Knights to see. He leaned on Abraxas to walk up the remaining stairs and let Abraxas and Evan half-carry him to his bed, where he lay down and Summoned a book.

Slug was very active, as it was most evenings, seemingly doing flips and jumping around, brutalizing Tom’s pelvis.

“Would you stop?” he hissed in the direction of his belly. The sound of his voice only served to increase Slug’s activity.

At least his little Slug was healthy, he supposed. But he was ready to finish having his insides used as a trampoline.


	9. Latent

“Mr. Riddle - a word, please,” said Professor Dumbledore.

Tom was annoyed. It had been a horrible week. Slug had been supposed to come seven days ago, but no. A steady burning pain had its claws in his lower back. “I’m right here,” he said, leaning against the wall. His first NEWT, Care of Magical Creatures, started in fifteen minutes. Tom wasn’t keen to be late. He intended to take all possible NEWTs - even Divination and Care of Magical Creatures. 

“In my office, Mr. Riddle,” said Professor Dumbledore.

Tom pressed his lips together and followed Professor Dumbledore into his office, where he lowered himself into a chair. “Yes?”

“I’m concerned about you taking these exams,” said Professor Dumbledore. “I didn’t anticipate you still being pregnant. To be honest, I imagined you’d be early.”

“I have got Care of Magical Creatures in twelve minutes, sir,” Tom ground out, shifting in his seat.

“That is one of the classes I’m concerned about. There is a practical demonstration element, isn’t there?”

Tom nodded.

“That does seem a rather… risky endeavour, doesn’t it?”

Tom scowled and glared at Dumbledore. “I’ll be fine. And if you don’t let me go soon, I’ll be late.”

“Do tell one of the overseers about your condition, Tom, my boy!” said Professor Dumbledore, desperation entering his voice. “They need to know so they can protect you!”

Tom didn’t need to be protected by anyone! He was a perfectly capable wizard, thank you very much. “FIne,” he snapped, and pulled himself to his feet. He did not want to be late to his first NEWT exam! Care of Magical Creatures had a practical portion and an exam portion. The exam came first, and then the practical part: calming and containing an animal. The species was the particular student’s choice - most chose to study specific animals and this allowed the Ministry to select the most appropriate examiners - and Tom had chosen an Occamy.

He moved as quickly as he could to the fields outside Hogwarts where the exam was to be held. It was a beautiful day, and the outside environment was meant to simulate the conditions most Magizoologists would be working in. A student who could pass the Care of Magical Creatures NEWT was well equipped for field work in the future.

Tom’s ‘quickly as possible’ had become slower. Several times he caught himself tripping over his own feet, and he worried that he was obviously waddling. Over the past few days, Slug - who was not so little anymore - had settled low in his abdomen like a heavy stone.

He arrived just as the head Ministry examiner was calling, “Anyone else? Anyone else for Care of Magical Creatures?”

The Care of Magical Creatures NEWT involved Ministry workers because the number of creatures used made it incredibly irresponsible and dangerous to have less than one overseer per two students.

Tom took a seat in the middle of the collection of desks. There was a dandelion growing near his feet. The exam started almost as soon as he’d sat down, and lasted for forty minutes.

Tom finished his exam with five minutes to spare and kicked at the dandelion, Curse Dumbledore for bringing his attention to his baby when he should be focusing on his exam! The Transfiguration Professor’s interference had Tom unable to tear his thoughts away from the irritating round of practice contractions.

“Quills down please, and on to the practical part of the exam!” announced the Ministry worker. “Each of you will be in a separate pen containing your requested creature. You will have ten minutes to successfully coax, cajole, or otherwise secure your requested creature into a suitable traveling habitat and have it ready to travel. When you have completed your task, you will have finished. You will receive your NEWT scores shortly before you depart on the Hogwarts Express.”

Tom headed to the pen containing the Occamy. “In you go,” he told it in Parseltongue. In English, he said, “I’ve been studying a bit of beast-speak. You never know when it’ll come in handy!”

The Ministry worker nodded and smiled. 

“Must I, Speaker?” asked the Occamy sulkily.

“Yes.” Tom shut his eyes as his abdomen tightened. He felt like he was getting more sensitive to them! It was probably Professor Dumbledore’s fault, he decided, bringing it up when Tom was already worried about his exams.

“For how long?”

“Just for a bit. It is a traveling case. I think you will be going somewhere new!”

“Will there be food?”

“Oh, I’m sure!” Tom assured it.

The Occamy slithered into the expanding crate, settling into a nest not far in.

“Very well done,” said the Ministry worker. “And learning beast-speak, too - you’re going places, young man!”

Tom smiled and left for his next NEWT, Arithmancy.

Abraxas Malfoy and Evan Rosier were waiting for him outside the classroom the Arithmancy NEWT was to be held in. “I hope I’ve remembered the Chaldean numbers right,” Evan worried.

“It’s just different enough from the Agrippan method to be infuriating,” said Abraxas.

“We’ll manage,” said Tom.

He was starting to doubt, now, that his contractions really were just practice. They were growing increasingly painful, radiating out from his back and around his pelvis in a way they never had before.

But he had a whole day of exams to get through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 11 hour day:  
> 11 blocks of 50 minute exams. Tom is taking all 11, but nobody else does that. The exam day starts at 7 AM, and ends at 6 PM. Most students are not taking exams for that long... Tom is an anomaly.   
> The exams can be that short because the scores are used in combination with other grades to form the final NEWT score.


	10. Active

Arithmancy went without a hitch. By the end of Ancient Runes Tom was exhausted. His patience with symbols in other languages was lower than usual, or maybe that was the intermittent distraction of the pain.

It hurt and he hated it.

Astronomy and Charms were next. Tom would really rather curl up in a ball, and he was only halfway through his eleven hours of exam-taking!

Abraxas was shooting odd looks at Tom throughout Defense Against the Dark Arts. It was a practical examination, and as such took only fifteen minutes. The students fought against dummies, a task Tom normally found ridiculously boring. But today his reflexes were slow and he was clumsy, and disarming the dummy proved difficult.

“Are you okay?” Abraxas whispered when they made their way to Herbology. Herbology was one of Abraxas’ favorite classes - at their level, it involved quite a bit of genetics and crossbreeding, subjects Abraxas enjoyed and hoped to apply to peacocks.

“I’m in labor,” muttered Tom, glaring at the ground, and he was pretty sure at this point that that was what it was. And at the worst time, too! He still had five exams to get through before the end of the day.

“What?” Abraxas whirled to face Tom. “You’re - Merlin, we’ve got to go-”

“Calm yourself!” Tom snarled. “I am not going anywhere, and neither are you.”

“But - but!” Abraxas looked around wildly. “But you-”

“But nothing.” Tom fixed his glare on Abraxas. “Assist me.”

“Y-yes!” Abraxas stammered. “Um…”

Tom sighed heavily and grasped Abraxas’ forearm, pulling the blond Slytherin along with him. “Just stay with me.”

Tom was twitchy throughout Herbology, finding himself gritting his teeth to avoid groaning out loud more than once. It was getting worse - could he last? 

That question was answered during History of Magic. Tom gripped the edge of his desk with white knuckles while Abraxas explained the situation to the other Knights. They all took History of Magic - it wasn’t a hard class, and it looked good on a resume. Tom had his head on the desk and Abraxas was trying to feed him water. Evan Rosier put up his hand. “Professor Binns - we need to -”

“Be quiet, Mr. Rosier, and get on with your exam,” said Professor Binns.

“But sir!” Evan Rosier protested.

“Eyes to the parchment or I’ll dock points,” said Professor Binns.

Mulciber was staring blankly in horror. Tom noticed, and his angry magic blew his Knight back several feet. 

Lestrange stood from his chair, and when Professor Binns didn’t look up, knelt at Tom’s side. “Tom,” he said, “Tom? My Lord? What do you need?”

Tom hissed through gritted teeth. _“Exam!”_

“This is not the time to be worrying about an exam!” Abraxas wasn’t even trying to be quiet. Every other student in the room was staring at the commotion.

Tom clawed himself into an upright position. “Battle of the Crimson Grass,” he said, “1645. Lestrange, write it down, fool!”

“You are the fool!” Abraxas grasped Tom’s forearms. “Stop. Stop this now, you’re having an actual baby, _right now,_ you can take the exam later!”

There were gasps from the surrounding witches and wizards, and almost immediately the gossip started. Lestrange jumped onto one of the desks.

“Shut it, all of you!” he shouted. “Nott! Tell Dumbledore there’s a problem with Riddle! Rosier! Tell Slughorn the Potions NEWT might be running later, or even tomorrow! Go now!”

“Now this is not at all appropriate behavior,” admonished Professor Binns, but nobody was listening to him anymore.

“Traitor,” Tom spat at Abraxas.

“You’ll thank me later. Here, hold my hand - you’re going to cut your fingers on that wood.”

Tom glared, but did as Abraxas asked. Abraxas almost immediately let out a yelp of pain.

Tom smirked.

Professor Dumbledore arrived after about five minutes, smoothing down his auburn beard and looking utterly unhurried. Tom glared at him. If he were a snake, he’d be spitting venom at the Transfiguration Professor.

“Professor Dumbledore, I’m glad you’re here,” said Professor Binns. “The students have been misbehaving rather badly!”

“That is not my concern, Cuthbert. There are more important things than an exam.”

Abraxas nodded at Tom with an irritatingly cheerful smile.

“Now Tom, my boy, to get you out of here… you should really be driven to St. Mungos, it’s unsafe to Floo or Apparate at this stage. Can you walk?”

Tom shoved himself onto shaky legs to prove that he could. “Of course I can walk!”

Professor Dumbledore smiled, a serene look in his blue eyes. “Of course. We’ll use my personal chambers, I think, no need to worry your classmates or risk being interrupted by sprained ankles and spilled potions.”

Tom really couldn’t care less. A contraction hit then, and it had him doubling over and swearing in Parseltongue.

Abraxas grasped him by one shoulder, wiping sweat off his forehead. Tom was hot. Abraxas was -

“No!” he forced out as Abraxas started to undo the buttons holding his outer robe up. “Reveal-”

“They already know,” Abraxas said, and pulled the robe off Tom’s back. A wave of cool air hit him like a calming draught setting in. “Come on, yeah? You don’t want to be in public when this happens.”

Tom certainly did not! When the contraction had passed he hurried out of the classroom, Professor Dumbledore and his Knights following.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t reached his destination when the next contraction came. They were close together, now, and they hurt like hell. Fiendfyre ripping through his abdomen and leaving his insides a bloody pulp. Tom fell to his knees, utterly miserable, his usually perfectly styled hair messy and damp with sweat. The wrecked shirt he wore was tight around his arms, but had been hacked off so the rest of his torso was bare.

He snarled at a group of third-years. They squeaked and ran off.

“You don’t have to frighten the students, now, my boy,” Professor Dumbledore said mildly. Tom cried out, wrapping his arms around his bump, which was full of lancing pain, like it was burning, burning, and he had no reflexes to pull him out of the fire…

Abraxas and Evan were at his sides, dabbing at his forehead with their sleeves and offering their shoulders to lean on. Tom gripped onto them, moaning in agony. As he stood up something - popped, inside him, and sticky liquid dribbled down his legs.

He could feel it soaking into the fabric of his school trousers, and the thought entered his head that he might not be able to replace them. And if he couldn’t replace his own clothes, how could he expect to care for a child?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abraxas: see what I have to deal with?


	11. Transitional

They made it to Professor Dumbledore’s quarters before the next contraction came, and Tom was very, very glad they weren’t trying to walk all the way to the hospital wing, which was up several flights of stairs and at the opposite end of the castle.

Abraxas led him to the sofa, which was soft and accommodated Tom squatting with his head on his knees. An old cigarette burn stared back at him. It had marred his skin ever since he was little, defenceless - as his Slug soon would be.

His Slug. It was hard to believe that what had once been a blob on a magical projection had become a human child, a human child he’d be meeting in a few hours.

Hours! Tom didn’t want to wait hours.

Other than Abraxas and Evan, the other Knights who had followed him stood in an awkward group, not looking at Tom - they must have remembered what happened to Mulciber - and shuffling their feet, with nowhere to go and nothing to do. But they could not abandon their Lord without his say-so, and he was in no state to give it.

Professor Dumbledore had his wand tip pressed to Tom’s sweat-slicked lower back, and was chanting in a language Tom didn’t recognize. His anus suddenly felt much looser, like all the muscles had fallen away, and Tom remembered what the man had said about _giving birth._

He screamed, a raw and gutteral sound from his very essence. He hurt. Everything hurt. The world was white and black and pain and Evan’s skin breaking beneath Tom’s sharp fingernails and the rush of blood in his ears and the horrible, horrible pressure of something forcing its way through him, and something in him registered that this must be his Slug, his little Slug - who seemed enormous now - going lower. He felt for the baby, but there was nothing. Only skin that stretched like a rubber band. His pelvis felt like it was in several pieces. The thought made him queasy.

“We’re not at that point yet,” said Professor Dumbledore.

“Water!” Tom cried, and Abraxas brought a cup to his lips. Tom sucked down the water like a dry sponge.

A few hours passed in this fashion. Tom would almost recover, but before he properly had, another contraction would seek to destroy him from the abdomen up. He clutched Evan’s hands, crying out in agony every few minutes, wishing it would end. The world felt like a blur, barely noticeable, pale and quiet compared to the horrible overload of sensation within him.

He was tired and thirsty and in pain and barely heard as Professor Dumbledore said something nearby and Abraxas’ hand made its way onto his back. He was too tired to be angry with his Knight’s forwardness, instead, sinking into the comforting touch, wishing for a reprieve.

And then a hand was on his head and Professor Dumbledore was looking down at him and saying, “it’s time to push now, Tom.”

“Push?” Tom croaked, his throat dry and raw from screaming.

“Like you’re pooing,” Professor Dumbledore said with a smile. Tom glared at the stupid smile and… pushed, as hard as he could, panting with the effort. He didn’t use these particular muscles often, especially not as hard as this.

“Eww!” came a cry from Mulciber, who clearly had not learnt his lesson.

Tom, in his straining, had actually pooed. Abraxas waved his wand and Banished the surprisingly liquidy evidence.

“I see hair, Professor, what do I do?” Abraxas yelped.

“Nothing,” said Professor Dumbledore. “Keep pushing, Tom.”

Evan Rosier hung limply off the side of the sofa, his hands still in Tom’s white-knuckled grip, cracked and bleeding and covered in bloody half-moon fingernail marks.

Tom cried out as something stretched him more than he would have imagined possible, and then it was over.

Tom’s grip loosened, and he let his head droop. It was over. Thank Merlin, it was over.

“Congratulations, Tom,” said Abraxas. “It’s a girl.”

A girl. His little Slug was a girl. He had a daughter.

He wriggled into a half-sitting, half lying position, and reached for her. Abraxas handed over the naked baby. She was tiny and wrinkly and pinky purple and the most beautiful thing Tom had ever seen.

Then he noticed the fleshy string hanging from her stomach.

“You told me she didn’t have a tail!” he said accusingly, looking at Professor Dumbledore.

“She doesn’t,” said Professor Dumbledore. “That’s the umbilical cord, and it’s connected to the placenta. That’s what fed her.”

“And the placenta is…” Tom’s eyes followed the umbilical cord to a nasty conclusion. “You mean I’m not finished?”

“Not quite, no,” said Professor Dumbledore. “What a lovely daughter you’ve got there, my boy.”

Tom held his baby close. Dumbledore wouldn’t be getting his hands on her! In fact, he didn’t trust anyone with her.

Very slight contractions hit, and Tom groaned at the use of his abused insides. Within a minute, the bloody mass was out and he could focus on the child.

He brought her mouth to the level of his nipples, and she latched on immediately. He was surprised it worked, even though he had just given birth, he’d still been doubtful that this part would actually work, especially since his nipples had remained mostly (well, somewhat) flat.

He cradled his daughter close as she suckled, and marveled at her tiny features. She had a button nose, and big eyes that roamed around the room, fixing on his face.

He already knew what her name would be.

“Welcome to the world, Evadne Maia Riddle,” he whispered. 

She was a tribute to his mother, the Pleiad sister of Maia. She was precious, perfect. She would honor the life his mother had never had, the struggle she’d gone through to bring Tom into the world that he now understood. And she would have the world at her feet if she wished it. She, like the mythological Evadne, was the daughter of a god.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evadne: "pleasing one." Daughter of the nymph Pitane in Greek (later stolen by Romans) mythology. Evadne is the Roman translation. 
> 
> Evadne's mother Pitane was "loved of great Poseidon, son of Kronos (Cronus), and bore the babe Euadne (Evadne), child of the crown of violet tresses, hiding the pains of maiden motherhood beneath her robe."
> 
> Maia: mother. In Greek mythology she was the daughter of Atlas and mother of Hermes. She was very shy and lived alone on a mountain. In Roman mythology, she was the goddess of spring and the Earth mother. The month of May was named after her.
> 
> Maia was the eldest of the Pleiades, seven sisters. The other Pleiades are: Teygata, Elektra, Alkyone, Asterope, Kelaino, and Merope.
> 
> Interestingly, Merope was the only one of the seven Pleiades to marry a mortal.
> 
> Maia is referred to as 'Maia of the lively eyes' and it is said "Maia surpassed the beauty of her sisters."


End file.
